


Right By You

by Namibulous



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Beauty and the Beast, Bisexual Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, F/F, Lesbian Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2019-11-01 17:29:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17871668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Namibulous/pseuds/Namibulous
Summary: Ever since she could remember, Comtesse Amélie de Guillard has suffered a frightful curse. Her heartbeat is slow, and it's only getting slower by the day. Nothing has cured her. It seems like nothing will. But when a woman falls into her life that truly puts the strange in stranger, she begins to feel something inside of her stir. It's not a question of if this Angela is more than she appears, but just how much more there is to know. And just how much she knows, as well.





	1. Chapter 1

Sharp light filtered through the gap in the curtain. Such a defiant yet cheerful sign that the drape had failed in its duty. It woke Amelie. Slowly, she reached a hand out through the darkness of her bed, attempting to catch the sunbeam. Keep it. And yet just as she felt the warmth fill her palm, it disappeared, escaping to be amongst the clouds once again.

She sat up, fighting pounds of down and satin to do so, lengths of black hair tumbling this way and that around her.

Suppose it was morning.

For Amelie, mornings followed the same routine. Began with a bath - drawn for her, naturally - that provided a wonderful moment of solitude when she was left alone. The water hugged her close. Rose oil kissed her skin. But her favorite part: for the first and last time of her day, she felt warmth in her body. A comfort she cherished as long as she could.

Always the same routine. Wash her hair, wash her face, wash her body. And then, when all of the labor of the bath was done, she would lay back. In the silence of her bathing room, in the cooling water of her brass tub, she would press a hand to her breast and feel it.  
  
_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

Seconds. Between every heartbeat, nearly three seconds passed. More than the months prior, and surely less than the months to come. But every day, in the glow of the morning sun, she tracked it.

_Thump._

_Thump._

“Lady Amelie?” Her handmaid called to her from the threshold of her bathing room. “Are you ready to dry and dress, milady? I should think breakfast will be served soon.”

Just as it was every morning before, yes.

Amelie said nothing at first. She lapsed the room into silence for so long, the maid thought to begin to speak again. But then the comtesse stood from the water and stepped from the bath.

“I am ready,” she affirmed. “I suppose I should hurry, lest I _enrage_ whoever is present.”

“Perish the thought, milady,” the gentle maid giggled, and fetched a towel.

The term that Amelie would use to describe dressing in the morning would be that she was ‘strapped’. Her handmaidens strapped her into her dress, with its many laces and loops. They strapped up her hair. She felt as though she was being strapped into a whole new body, at times. Any discomfort that she may have felt, concealed by layers of rich fabric, powdery makeup, and a tall sense of pride.

From a cold-bodied woman to a high-collared comtesse.

Before breakfast, through the halls of the chateau, Amelie was joined by her steward, Clement. A dour sort of older man. He had wisps of white hair around his ears and little anywhere else, and wore circle-framed spectacles which he adjusted nearly incessantly. It was a habit Amelie noticed well when she was ignoring him talk. Usually of staff manners and finances. Whatever else. This time, however, she did listen as he told her of the guests she was hosting in her estate, and the importance of each one.

“You will be pleased to know that Lord Lucien has arrived safely,” he said, once more touching his specs.

Amelie glanced away, making a petulant face into the reflection of a passing window. Lord Lucien, a man about as subtle in his intentions as a wolf in a rabbit’s nest. “Wonderful.”

“And,” Clement said, “There is one last guest.”

The hesitance of the statement had Amelie look back to her steward in intrigue.

He adjusted. “Her name is Lady Angela. She is supposedly of a minor lordship in a kingdom to the north, Schwarzwald.”

“Supposedly?”

“I’ve never heard of her, milady. Nor have I heard of this ‘Schwarzwald’.”

A strange woman claiming to be nobility from a land unheard of, now here as a guest in her home. Well, it could not possibly be plainer that this was a spy, or at least a gutsy charlatan. She weathered a little irritation.

“Ask for a signet ring, a letter,” she said. “Something to prove her gentry.”

“I have, among other things, milady, and she provided. Barring my own lack of knowledge, there is nothing to truthfully say she _isn’t_ of a noble birth.”

At that, Amelie perked her eyebrow in thought. Irritation gave way to intrigue again. A true mystery was on their hands, and if Clement didn’t know who this woman was, she knew exactly who could find out. Almost amusedly, she bid, “Pass her name along to our spymaster.This one will be a treat for Sombra.”

“I will do so, milady.” Adjust. “In the meantime, if you would like to speak with this Lady Angela, she will likely be in the dining hall with the other guests now.”

Oh, she most certainly would.

The dining hall of Chateau Guillard housed one of the largest windows in the entire estate. A floor-to-ceiling spanse of glass panels that overlooked the waters of the lake on which the chateau sat and the forest beyond. To say that it lightened up the room would only be half true. Even so much glass couldn’t accommodate for the clouds that stowed the sun away. Amelie supposed the sunbeam that woke her that morning _was_ quite a rarity in the rainy season.

More important than the abysmal weather, however, were those that sat in the seats that surrounded the long table. Sharing polite discussion while enjoying tea and croissants. Many people that Amelie recognized, faces from soirées and salons year-round. One she did not.

Beautiful. The first word that jumped, embarrassingly, into her mind upon seeing the strange guest. Thick, wild blonde hair bundled into a ponytail with several curled locks free to frame a round and open face. Blue eyes that flitted over to rest on the amber of her own.

Oh, she was certain if she could blush, she would.

“My Lady Amelie, the woman I have been waiting for!” Lucien the Loud broke her from her thoughts. Unwantedly, might she have added. She also might have hit him. If only it were politely acceptable.

“Lord Lucien, the man I was aware was in my home.” Amelie spoke in a deadpan. She took her seat at the table, deliberately casual as she slid in at the head. It was only by pleasant coincidence that Lady Angela was in the seat directly to her left. Unfortunate circumstance that Lucien was to her right.

“It has been my sorrow that we have not spoken since last season’s party at Chateau d'Été,” he blathered. “How have you been, my dear? You look as radiant as—”

“Milady, I don’t believe we have met,” Amelie said, affixed on her new guest. Those eyes locked into her gaze again, and she blessedly felt the rest of the room disappear. “I am Amelie de Guillard. This is my humble chateau.”

“Oh! Yes, I know that!”

It blindsided Amelie. Not that her guest knew of her, but just how she said so. No decorum. If there was any doubt left that this woman was more than she seemed, it was long gone now.

Angela continued, “I mean, I heard of you, and that’s why I’m here. To meet you! That is, I was in the area to begin with. On… business. I was on business, and I heard of you, and I came here, and now I am meeting you! I’m Angela!”

So strange. The woman had an earnest face, such a sincerity to the smile she wore. Yet her words were blatant lies. Not even good ones, but the kind a child said to their mother when they were caught stealing biscuits before dinner. So very, very strange. Amelie felt like the wind was taken out of her. She buttered a croissant and bit, unable to think of a response right away.

Unfortunately, Lucien could. “You have such a strange way about you, Lady Angela,” he laughed, despite the fact that _nobody_ asked. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, I come from Schwarzwald,” came the good-natured reply. “You probably don’t know of it, nobody here seems to. It’s just a small, little land north of here.”

“North, you say? I believed all that was north of here was the wilderness and the great sea. Whereabouts in the north?”

“Have a care, Lord Lucien.” Amelie finally spoke, bordering on grinding her teeth. Even if these were things she herself wondered, it didn’t mean that he had the right to ask them. “It is unkind to pelt a lady with questions as you do.”  
  
Lucien synthesized shame with a hand to his heart. “Of course. My apologies, Lady Angela. You just fascinate—”

“Lucien!” A voice boomed. Familiar to Amelie, one of her most dependable, if deafening, house guards. He was an older man mostly of note in his stature, a head higher than most other men and perhaps a head wider, too. He approached the table with a hand out and placed it upon Lucien’s shoulder.

“Reinhardt, my goodness! Have you grown?”

The two shared a laugh.

“Come!” Reinhardt insisted to the lord. “Why don’t you come along and see just how the armory has improved since your last visit! I know how you are with our warhammers!”

It was instant relief and gratitude both that Amelie felt, watching as her dear guard shepherded Lucien off through the threshold. Such a kindness she could not repay. With a near-inaudible sigh, she turned back to her guest.

“Now then, where were we, Lady Ang—”

She was gone.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Breakfast was done, which meant that now was the time of day that Amelie expected of herself to do things. Things that she had no desire to do, and little drive to see accomplished, but things that would be done nonetheless. She would whisk herself away from the dining hall to the second story of the chateau and she would lock herself away in her office doing heaps and pounds of paperwork. Of course, that only meant signing her name to most of them, but it cramped her writing hand something awful!

Rarely did she read the documents she was signing. It was mostly political nonsense, trading nonsense, other forms of nonsense that her clerks dealt with. However, this time, a certain stranger made her feel especially curious. She perused each letter, every request, searching for some sort of hint. Something that ascertained this enigmatic ‘Schwarzwald’ existed. Or _any_ lands to the north, for that matter.

Papers scattered across her desk hours later, she was beginning to feel like a madwoman.

Fortunately, it was at that moment of sleuthing that there was a lazy rap at her office door, and uninvited, in came her resident spymaster.

Sombra was a curious woman, both in that she was strange, and in her nature. She was oftentimes nowhere in the chateau to be seen, except when she was exactly needed. Usually she was the one that found you. Really, it was formidable that she was able to hide herself so well, given that she was the only person Amelie had ever met to use fabric dye in her own hair. A bright violet in the strands that toppled over her shoulder. In plain sight, she was hard not to spot.

“Your Ladyship,” Sombra most casually greeted, sauntering herself in with a folio under her arm.

“Sombra.” Amelie set down the document in hand. “It would be record time for you if you are already finished.”

“Ah, even _I’m_ not that good.” Sombra unraveled the string of her folio to show just how empty it was. “But it doesn’t take digging to tell you what I already know.”

Despite how Amelie gestured for her to have a seat, Sombra elected to wander over to the mantle of the room’s fireplace and begin fiddling with a decorative statuette. Probably a gift from who-knows-where. It held no sentimentality.

“So?” Amelie prompted.

“So. Here’s the thing about our little house guest. No matter what she’s so sweetly telling you, she’s lying. That place, Sharz-whatever, it doesn’t exist. I know the ins and outs of every kingdom on the map. I have my contacts. Some of them are explorers. There’s nothing up there.” Sombra put the statuette back. “If she’s really _from_ where she says she is, then she’s got to be a forest hermit.”

It had Amelie leaning back in her chair, thoughtful. She wouldn’t be surprised by liars at court. At times, even she was one of them. But she couldn’t get out of her mind just how earnest this Angela had looked at her. It was the kind of sincerity one could rarely fake. And it was the kind of sincerity one could rarely find.

Feeling strangely argumentative, Amelie said, “She had proof of gentry with her. Rings and letters with seals. Those could hardly come from nowhere.”

“And why not?” Sombra gave a small laugh. “You’re not that naive, are you, _princesa?_ Anything can be fabricated for the right price. In fact — ”

She tapped her long index nail against her lip.

“I may know just the man that helped our lovely stranger out.”

Amelie quirked an eyebrow. “Do you believe he would be amenable to a chat?”

“With you?” Sombra snorted. “Not likely. But I’ll see what I can do. You’ve given me quite the puzzle to solve, Amelie. I can’t _wait_ to see what comes together.”

Meeting adjourned, Amelie took it upon herself to decide that she’d done enough for now. She had just neatly organized her mess of a workspace into two piles of completed and uncompleted work, and that felt like quite the feat to her. Besides, a rare sunbeam had peeked itself out from a break in the overcast sky, and she very much wanted to see if she couldn’t catch it out on the balcony.

Amelie exited her office with caution, peeking out first to see if any busybodies were around to stop her and shuffle off even more paperwork. She found guards making their usual routes and some few servants passing through. No clerks, no spectacle-pushing steward. All clear, she headed out down the hallway.

As it happened, the sunbeam was not swallowed up by the clouds just yet.

No, Amelie had found it.

It settled itself on the Lady Angela, who was sitting on the stone floor of the balcony, completely bare-footed. Shoes in a toppled heap beside. She hadn't noticed Amelie, not at first. She was looking out through the gap in the stone railing, admiring the grey waters of the lake and the freshness of the breeze. With the sun wrapping around her, it almost looked as though she glowed. A sort of magic was in the halo of her hair and the brightness of her eyes.

Amelie took an unsteady step. It was the clack of her heel that alerted Angela, who quickly turned to see.

“Oh,” she said, a visible blush rising in her cheeks. “Lady Amelie.”

It was the first time she’d said Amelie’s name. It was hard not to notice such a thing, with how the lilt of it cradled comfortably in her slow-beating chest.

“Lady Angela,” she greeted in return. Coming forward, she touched the cool railing, glad for its solidity. “You seem to have made yourself quite comfortable.”

“Oh, the opposite of it, actually.” Angela reached out to rub the sole of her foot, giving a gentle wince as she did. “These infernal heels. Every step I took was just getting more and more unbearable. I couldn’t take it anymore. And _this_ thing — ” She tugged at her middle. “Making it so hard to breathe!”

“I take it you are not quite accustomed to this fashion.” It was hard for Amelie not to smile, just a little, at the fuss.

“Just a touch. Oh, not even a touch.”

As Angela leaned against the stone, Amelie decided to sit and join her. How long it’d been since she sat on the ground like a child. The both of them looked out onto the water, but it was Amelie that watched the other from the corner of her eye. The patch of sun still shone on Angela’s skin. Doubtless it was warming her up in the dismal spring weather. How Amelie wished to feel warmth in that same way. From the sun or the skin.

“We don’t have clothes like this where I’m from,” Angela said. “I would usually be barefoot all through the average day. And my ordinary dresses aren’t half as constricting. I like to have a full breath of air, thank you, not half.”

“Why have you dressed like this, then?”

“Well, I … It’s polite to fit in, _ja?_ ”

Amelie laughed. It happened before she could stop it, bubbling out of her chest and into the world for the first time in quite a while. Something about this woman just tickled her. She could hardly even try to speak, and it caused Angela to flush once more.

“ _Mes excuses,_ ” She finally said, wiping an eye, a hand to her chest. “Lady Angela, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you are not going to ‘fit in’ in my chateau.”

“Oh. Then I … I’m sorry to cause such a disturbance in your home, I-I can — ”

“Lady Angela.” Amelie smiled to her. “I never said that was a bad thing.”

Angela slowly smiled in return. She reached up to pull a loose blonde curl around her ear and glanced down to her lap, perhaps even bashfully.

“I do want to apologize,” She said, “For leaving so quickly at breakfast.”

“Now that you mention it, I had wondered where you went off to.”

“It was really rude of me. I was just so startled. I rarely see many men, let alone see one so big! It just … Well, it gave me a bit of a frighten.”

Amelie rose her brow in intrigue. “Rarely see men?”

To that, Angela seemed to stiffen. “I — We don’t — There are just very few where I’m from,” she stumbled.

Another lie. Or, perhaps not a lie, but not a whole truth. Yet, still told in that same way, same as the others. Sincere and open. But hurried and wrong. It would be a thing to add to Sombra’s growing pile of puzzle pieces.

Even still, Amelie found herself nodding. “It sounds enviable.” Sometimes she found herself lamenting her own attraction to the male sort. “I should tell you, though, that the man that frightened you is not to be scared of. Reinhardt is a truly gentle kind. I would go so far as to say if there is a man to trust in my chateau, it is him.”

It had Angela smiling again, and giving a nod of her own. “I’m pleased to hear that, then. But, what about Lord Lucien?”

“What _about_ Lord Lucien? The man has as much charm as a vulture, but acts just as much a beast of prey. He is sleazy, unsightly, and generally unpleasant. If he must be dealt with, leave it to me. He deserves none of your time. I hope he has not already caused you distress from breakfast.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Angela pressed a giggle to skin of her knuckles. “Why do you keep him in your home if he is so unpleasant?”

“Ah, the _politics!_ If I slighted him in any meaningful way, such as kicking him out of my home, then it would be the gossip of court.”

“I see! You wouldn’t want that.”

“I wouldn’t, indeed. You are lucky to be so far removed from this kingdom’s culture.”

“And yet, here I have invited myself into it!” Angela laughed once more.

Amelie smiled. “Here you are.”

The sun beam faded away to be amongst the clouds, so Amelie decided the allure of being outside had vanished, as well. She rose from her place on the ground, dusted her skirts, and offered a hand to Angela.

“Shall we?”

Angela took it gratefully. And in that moment, as she rose, Amelie thought about just how warm her hand was in her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading and sticking with me and sharing your comments with me! I love you all so much!!


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning of the following day, Amelie did not, lamentably, wake up to the shine of the sun. But she may as well have. Thoughts of that strange woman bathed in light permeated her groggy, sleep-drunk mind. She found herself laying long in the comfort of her bed, just imagining the warmth of Angela’s hand, and the warmth that the rest of her body must hold. The warmth she could share if they so happened to press close to one another.

If they pressed …

“Lady Amelie!”

Amelie gasped and jolted up, shame pulling at her insides. It startled her poor handmaid, who did not expect such a violent awakening at just a name.

“M-my apologies, Lady Amelie, but your bath is drawn,” she told her, sheepishly.

With a sigh, Amelie deflated from her catlike alertness and her palm cradled her forehead. “Fine, fine.”

The usual routine of hers was followed the same, although as she sank into the cooling waters this day, rather than tracking her heartbeat, she imagined a stronger one. A joyous one. One of power and heat and life. The kind of heartbeat that could give her another sixty years of herself. She nurtured the once-hidden away thoughts of another life, the kind of thoughts that were as unproductive as they were seductive.

But such was only to be a daydream. So she rose from the bath.

With the rainy, cloudy, abysmal season underway, Amelie wondered at her own propensity to go outdoors. It didn’t provide very much but a fresh, and very crisp, spring breeze that she huddled under her shawl from. Suppose she was so worn from the endless winter, so cramped from keeping bundled indoors, she was fooling herself into believing it was already time to enjoy the outside. In the warmer months, she spent all the time she could out there, like a reptile coming to sun on a rock.

Well, it beat working.

Amelie walked through the chateau courtyard, realizing she had overlooked a blessing of spring: the newly-planted flowers. They were just infants of their future beauty, but nonetheless a welcome palette of colour amongst the greys of stone. They lined the courtyard’s skirts, and were a lovely frame to the solitary statue that stood in the centre.

Coming to a stop in her stroll, Amelie looked up at the marble giant. An unspeakably lovely woman with carved curls and a drape of a dress that tucked tightly to her figure. She was posed gracefully, exemplifying the beauty that she overlooked. A goddess.

Ordinarily this piece was just a trophy to Amelie. A decoration that her parents, or perhaps her parents’ parents, had purchased or received or commissioned. Ordinarily, it was just a big slab of stone. But as a brushstroke of sunshine painted across the goddess’ face and down her neck, something instead stirred in Amelie. She felt like this woman, this goddess, was looking at her. Seeing into her. Reaching out to her. A connection formed like it never had before.

Transfixed, Amelie reached a hand out to the base. It felt cold, cold like her skin, under her touch.

She murmured, “What are you trying to say?”

“What is who trying to say?” Angela asked.

Turning quickly around, there Amelie saw her. Different today, but still with that wild blonde ponytail. She had no shoes on her feet, completely bare against the cold stone path, although it didn’t seem to bother her at all. Also, a roundness to her belly and hips and breast that spoke of an abandoned corset. All of this, it suited her. And it seemed like her smile was brighter because of it.

Amelie smiled back.

“I was speaking to Venus,” she explained, gesturing to the still goddess behind her. “Though, she did not seem to want to speak back to me.”

“Well, maybe you just didn’t say the right thing.” Angela walked up to stand beside her and rubbed her chin, looking upwards. “Did you say please?”

“I admit, I did not say please.”

“No wonder, then.”

A chuckle rose in Amelie’s chest. “How was your night, Lady Angela?”

“Oh!” Angela grinned, turning back to her. “ _Ja,_ it was lovely. I’ve never slept on a bed like that before. I could hardly find my way out again with all of the blankets and pillows surrounding me!”

“I find it is like a nest, at times.”

“I was certainly cozy like one! What about you, did you have a good rest?”

“Oh.” Amelie smiled, inwardly sheepish. “Yes, a good rest. I did.”

In just a moment, Angela’s attention returned to the statue, towering over them, no longer bathing in light. She seemed to already see the majesty of it, her eyes affixed and mesmerized with the beauty at once. “Who _is_ she?”

Amelie looked up alongside her. She was curious how one couldn’t know who Venus was, but supposed she couldn’t assume the most out of a dubiously existing kingdom. And so she explained, “Venus is the goddess of love and beauty. Some consider her a guardian of women, as well. Many believed that she was birthed by the sea itself, arising fully formed from a clam, like a precious pearl.”

“A goddess of beauty and love and a watcher of women. Yes, I can see now why you wanted to speak with her,” Angela said with a laugh. “Who could resist to hear the knowledge of such a person?”

“I thought she might spare a little,” Amelie agreed. “About beauty, love, _or_ women.”

“I cannot say I know much about love, but I know a little about women, and a little about beauty, and I would say that you seem perfectly versed in both of them!” Angela beamed at her.

Amelie swore her heart was beating a second quicker than it should. But then thunder cracked above them, and like a sheet being pulled around the world, rain suddenly came pounding down. It caused Amelie to gasp, and tug her shawl uselessly over her head.

“Come, let’s get inside!” She shouted, rushing towards the building.

Yet, as she hurried, she did not hear her companion follow. She turned around quickly.

It was as if sun was shining, right there in the middle of the downpour. Angela stood with her arms outstretched, grinning face poised to the sky. She was moving her feet, twirling and whirling as if the rain had asked her to have this dance. With hands up, she looked like she believed she could catch every drop, and the challenge delighted her.

Amelie could hardly help but laugh. This woman, this strange, strange woman.

“You’re insane, do you know that!” She called out over the crash of rain.

Angela yelped out her laughter. “Maybe so!”

In the dryness of Amelie’s chambers, Amelie wrapped herself up in linen in lieu of her sopping dress and searched her wardrobe for replacements. As she did, it was all she could do to shake her head and smile, thinking of how Angela may well still be making a fool of herself out in the courtyard. Her joy was enviable, and more than a little infectious.

Ah, clothes, clothes. Amelie was only going to be at her desk for the bulk of the remaining day, there was little sense in making it a gown or anything remotely fancy. She changed, she left her hair down, and then she heard a knocking on her door.

“ _Princesa,_ do I have a scoop for you!” Sombra called through.

Amelie almost wanted to lock it and leave that thought alone. She was beginning to resent truths. Ideas were so much more comforting than cold, heartless truths.

But she didn’t. She knew she couldn’t.

She crossed her room to answer her spymaster’s knock, and found that not only was the vibrantly-haired woman standing before her, but also a man. He was tall, even more so than Amelie, with an unshaven face and a tattered cloak of red. His eyes were nearly invisible beneath the shroud of his wide-brimmed hat, and the smoke of his cigar.

Naturally, Amelie’s eyes darted immediately to Sombra for an explanation.

“He’s the guy,” Sombra said with a shrug.

“The guy.”

“Yeah,” the man said, sounding borderline _amused._ “I’m the guy.”

Amelie felt a headache brew. “Let’s … Let us take this to my office, perhaps.”

In a few moments’ time, Amelie was sitting behind her writing desk, fireplace lit to her left, and this enigmatic, unconventional stranger of a man sitting in front. He seemed quite comfortable, slouched ever slightly, a leg crossed over one knee. He didn’t seem like the kind of person that would display any nerves, if he felt them.

Sombra was not sitting, as per usual, though she did stand near at least, hip resting on the desk.

“So,” Amelie prompted. “What is your name?”

“Don’t got one,” the man replied.

“It’s McCree,” Sombra said.

Amelie tried again. “Where are you from?”

“Nowhere.”

“He’s from the south, like me. A little village with no name.”

“… What do you do?”

“Nothin’.”

“He has a bunch of jobs. Most of them you won’t like. But the most important one is why he’s here right now.”

That headache was most certainly brewed, now. Amelie rubbed her palm against her eye and sighed. “Fine. _Why_ are you here?”

To that, the man, McCree, let out a laugh. “Must be drivin’ you up the wall. My apologies to you, it’s a force of habit. ‘Course, just layin’ out all of my unseemly activities to the Comtesse would be an awful foolish thing to do.”

That’s it. Amelie decided she had enough of the run-around. “What do you know about Lady Angela?” She clapped her hands against her desk.

Infuriatingly, McCree did not stop smiling, but he did seem to take the situation with a little more seriousness. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Well, she ain’t _L_ _ady,_  that’s a start. She came to me in town lookin’ like a lumberjack’s daughter and asked for my help. At the time, I never quite expected her to end up _here_ of all places, but …” He chuckled. “I’m gratified my work’s all that credible.”

“You forged her ring, and her papers, and all of that?” Amelie clarified.

“That’s right. Forgery might seem like an awfully ugly business, but it’s not an awfully hard one. Thought she might use all that to fool some snobby rich-ass noble for one reason or another.” He smirked around his cigar. “Suppose she had.”

Sombra snorted.

Amelie was, in that moment, glad that she could not blush. Because she was certain her face would be red, ear-to-chin. She took a bracing breath and clasped her hands together on her desk, composing herself as a noble should. When she spoke next, it was with almost _too much_ dignity. “And yet, Monsieur McCree, you are here. I sincerely hope it was not just to laugh in my face.”

“Tell you the truth, I considered not comin’ at all. But Sombra’s a friend of mine, so I owed her this one.” He lazed back again and scratched at the stubble on his neck. “So, I’ll tell you. Angela’s a common folk. Ain’t never seen her before she came to me, so I’ll wager she’s not a local. But I’ll also tell you this much: she’s a nice lady. Real nice. Whatever she’s doin’ here’s none of my business, but she ain’t deserve to be locked up for it.”

Despite everything, that was something Amelie was inclined to agree on. Angela was here on false pretenses, she possessed forged items, she _lied,_ and yet Amelie felt nothing but pain in her chest at the idea of punishing her. It was that _sincerity,_ the look in her eyes, it almost begged Amelie for forgiveness all on its own.

She stared downward at her writing desk, feeling an awful twist in her belly.

“Thank you for coming, Monsieur McCree. You may leave now.”


	4. Chapter 4

Ever since rain fell like stones upon Amelie four days ago, the skies had not let up. She watched from the upper hall of the chateau as the lake rippled under the weight of each drop. 

One would expect the sight to fill her with gloom - more gloom than usual - as it did every day of every rainy season prior. Instead, she felt the tiniest, barest hint of a smile. It only brought up the memories of Angela, surely out of her mind in the most charming of ways, dancing in the courtyard as she soaked to the bone. And then, only further, more memories of small moments they’d shared. Everything was worth cherishing to Amelie. Passing one another in the hallways, exchanging smiles across the dining table. Even if she hadn’t the chance to speak with Angela all that much since their Venus discussion, she felt assuaged with the little moments they could share.

Amelie only wished the pleasant feeling in her belly could suffocate the darker fears beneath it. The sort that corkscrewed into her gut when she lingered on them long enough. 

She began to walk, willing a change of scenery to bring a change of thought.

It was shortly thereafter that a flicker in the windows caught her eye. Blinding light bounced off of the lake’s surface, coming from a break in the clouds. Sun, even as the rain poured  _ unrelentingly _ downwards.

Amelie stopped, and she listened.

“Oh, please, Lady Angela, you needn’t.”

It was one of her maids, a voice coming from the door to the linen room. Amelie gave a cursory glance around the hallway before coming to stand beside it, leaning an ear near the gap.

Angela’s sweet voice came after. “I know I needn’t, but I would like to! I feel awful watching you all work so hard while I do nothing.”

“But you are  _ nobility _ , nobody expects you to do such lowly work!” The maid insisted.

“Lowly? Your work is not lowly. I do it all myself at home, it’s no trouble to me.” There was a pause before Angela continued, “And I would like to do what I can to make Lady Amelie’s life easier, too.”

At being so unexpectedly spoken of, and in such a sweet way, Amelie swore she felt her sluggish heart thump just the littlest bit harder. Even as she knew she shouldn’t be hearing this, she felt only more of a propensity to listen. She leaned closer.

“Milady,” the maid said, sounding touched. “Well I - I welcome the help, then. Here, you can do these ones if you’d like.”

There came the sound of shuffling linens, surely bedsheets and towels and the like being folded and sorted by the two women. It was silence for a short while, though long enough that Amelie debated leaving to be on her way. When she heard Angela speak again, that idea was quickly abandoned.

“There is something I would like to ask you.”

“What is it, milady?” The maid asked.

“Lady Amelie’s parents. I’ve never seen them around the chateau, are they … I mean, could it be that they are not … ?”

A pause, like a hesitance, before the maid replied, “A-ah. Yes, Lady Cateline and Lord Laurens did very tragically pass years ago.”

Amelie stared out at the rain, glad for the support of the wall behind her back, for suddenly she could not feel anything else. 

Her parents.  _ Comte Laurens et Comtesse Cateline de Guillard. _ She hadn’t thought about them for some time now. It was less that their deaths caused her any less pain, and more that she’d given all of the grief she had to give. She was only a girl at the time. First it was her father, a failure of the heart on his thirtieth birthday. Next it was her mother, the same death on her thirtieth, as well. The doctors couldn’t say what it was exactly that overcame them. They only supposed it had to do with their strange afflictions. The slow beat of the heart, slower by the day. The coldness of the body, colder by the day.

Amelie placed a hand to her chest.

Maybe she should feel afraid to die.

But she’d known for  _ so long _ now. 

And after more than twenty years, the fear of death stops chasing you to your grave.

With more sorrow than Amelie had in her entire body, she heard Angela say, “ _ Oh. _ That is … That is so awful to hear.” A quiver in her voice could have very nearly been tears. “How did … Has Lady Amelie been alright since then?”

“Well,” the maid confessed slowly, as though carefully treading onto thin ice. “I worry for her  _ so much, _ milady. It’s as though every year she withdraws further from us. I may not know her as personally as some, but I do see her every day, and every day it seems the light dims from her eyes more and more.”

There was no part of this that Amelie desired to hear any more. Ignoring the further voices, she pushed herself from the wall and began to traverse the hallway once more. When she was just steps from the door, however, it opened up, and Angela’s gracious face lit up with a smile as she exited.

“Lady Amelie,” she greeted. Her eyes and nose were touched with just the slightest tells of red. Perhaps she hadn’t been crying, but she surely came very close.

“Lady Angela,” Amelie greeted in return, feeling infected by her smile, even with all of the sombre she felt a moment ago.

“Were you heading somewhere?”

“Merely walking.”

“Could I walk with you?”

So used to their briefest little chats these past days, it took Amelie a moment to realize the request. She renewed her smile, warm as she could make it, and gave a nod. “Of course. I would be delighted.”

Angela seemed delighted, as well.

They walked together through the halls; two women, one set of heels clacking on the hardwood between them. They talked as they went. Angela seemed especially keen on asking questions that day. She asked her favourite food, her favourite season. She asked if Amelie enjoyed wearing all of those layers and heavy fabrics all of the time, which seemed a rather silly question to her.

“Why would you wear something that you don’t even enjoy?” Angela asked, utterly bemused.

“Nobody enjoys the process of fashion,” Amelie replied, trying not to sound  _ too _ amused. “That isn’t the point of it.”

“Clothes are the one constant of a person - well,  _ usually. _ It just seems bizarre to me to suffer all day for nothing!”

Amelie released just the breath of a chuckle. “You should see the ball gowns, if regular court attire confounds you so.”

“Ball gowns?” Angela looked at her. “What are those?”

“They’re extravagant dresses, made with every expense and frill you can think of. They are what is worn to balls.”

“And  _ those _ are - ?”

“Rather enormous parties where most guests prattle and gossip amongst each other for clout or  _ politics.” _ Amelie couldn’t keep herself from rolling her eyes at the end.

Angela giggled. “You don’t sound so fond of them.”

“Actually …” Amelie’s smile returned a little, waxing bashful. “I enjoy attending. Parties like those are the only places I get the opportunity to dance.”

That produced a clap out of Angela, an excited little sound as she bounced in her step. “Dancing! That sounds so exciting!”

With a growing eagerness, Amelie asked, “Do you dance, Lady Angela?”

“I don’t really know how! But it sounds like fun to me. Will you teach me, Lady Amelie?” Angela’s hands wrapped around Amelie’s arm. “Can we dance together?”

With a warmth inside of her, warmer than she’d felt in years, Amelie grinned and took one of Angela’s excitable hands. 

“Of course.”

The ballroom of Chateau Guillard was on the main floor, several rooms away from the dining room. It boasted the only pane of windows that rivaled it, too. And as such, as with the dining room, that lent very little to the overall lighting situation at that particular time of year. Rain, rain, rain. It simply looked dreary. No candles lit, just a large, dim, empty room.

Even so, it did nothing to dampen Angela’s amazement. She entered the room with a gasp, and stood in it with an equally breathy exhale. By now, Amelie had thrown away any inclination to  _ pretend  _ to wonder about Angela’s homeland, to ask if they didn’t have parties there, or any political gatherings at all. In fact, she decided, the less lies she provoked out of Angela, the better. In that moment, and many moments to come, naivete was bliss.

“It’s magnificent!” Angela exclaimed, giving a little twirl. “This is where you dance?”

“It is.” Amelie came to stand beside her. “Although,” she lamented, “There must be music. It would be hard for us to dance without music.”

Unafraid, Angela came to take her hands and offered a grin, bright as the sun.

“We can imagine our  _ own _ music.”

Amelie blinked. “Our own?”

“Just try it,” Angela insisted. “Close your eyes with me, and we’ll imagine our own music, together.”

And so Amelie closed her eyes, and she imagined quite hard. She thought it would never come to her. Bright things like music, like colours and sunshine, like the warm flicker of fire, they had all been so far from her reach for so long now. She thought she had frightened them all away with her mind full of dark, her heart full of cold. She thought happiness was lost.

And yet.

As she felt the warmth of another cradling her hands, imagined the brightness of the sunlight that sparkled across the lake, felt the urge of her feet to move and to play, she could hear a melody begin.

It began with a violin, slow at first. It was shy in how it sang, alone, birthed from the silence. But soon it found its voice, lilting higher, daring to drop low. It found itself in its song, eager to be played, eager to be bellowed. Before long, it was joined by another instrument, the cello. The two of them embraced each other, fitting curve to curve, turning song into dance. They knew each others melody like they were born to be played together. And when other instruments joined them, so lost in each others sound, they didn’t even know. The music they produced was for them. The music they produced was  _ love. _

“Do you hear it?”

Angela’s voice fit into the melody so perfectly, interrupting nothing, only harmonizing.

Unwilling to ruin such a beautiful thing, Amelie nodded.

“Then let’s dance!”

So they did.

Amelie took Angela’s hands, inviting them to lay on her broad shoulders. She took her own, holding the wide, soft curve of Angela’s hips. Never before had she danced with a woman, not like this, and yet every part of it felt more natural than any waltz she’d done before.

It was none of the routines Amelie’s teachers had taught her. Perhaps because none of it was focused on steps. There was no leading or follow. It was just the two of them, two bodies becoming one being, finding their own way to let the music take control.

And yet, something still felt off.

Amelie stopped dancing.

“What is it?” Angela asked.

With a smile splitting across her face, Amelie reeled back her foot and kicked, letting one of her heels soar straight across the ballroom and land on the floor with a clatter. Angela broke out into tremendous laughter, nearly yelping with it as Amelie launched the other one into some other odd direction.

_ “Wunderbar!” _ Angela exclaimed, settling her arms much more comfortably onto Amelie’s shoulders.

“I thought this may be easier.”

“And it’s so lovely to see your eyes!”

And as the two women grinned brightly at each other, alone on the dancefloor and yet  _ filled _ with music, they began their dance again.


	5. Chapter 5

As much as was possible for her, Amelie had a pep in her step the following day. Not from the events of the afternoon before. Although those certainly swam dreamily in the forefront of her mind, her spirits rode high for another reason entirely. As she exited her chambers for breakfast that morning, she’d been caught by Clement. He informed her of a new visitor coming to her chateau at midday, and she had eagerly been awaiting the announcement of his arrival since.

All throughout breakfast her antsiness persisted, and it followed into her office. Mindlessly, she would flick her signature on to pages with her quill, inevitably looking up at her still, unbothered door after each one. Just when she might finally have forgotten to anticipate a knock, one came.

“Milady,” Clement’s elderly voice spoke through the opening door. “I’m here to inform you that Lord—”

Amelie was already to her feet, happy to neglect paperwork for  _ any  _ reason, but especially so for this. She passed her steward with a quick utterance of thanks and made haste through the hallway toward the vestibule.

If only she could make it so far.

Of all the interruptions, Lucien was the one to stop her in the first floor hall. He had a look on his face that seemed to Amelie like concern, and she just knew that meant she was about to listen to his complaints.

“My Lady Amelie,” he began, holding onto the breast of his jacket, despite it being securely fastened. “You were just who I desperately desired to see. I have something I wish dearly to speak to you about.”

“I assumed as much, Lord Lucien, as you are blocking the hall in my presence,” Amelie retorted with the barest amount of civility.

It didn’t seem to phase him one bit. 

He leaned forward. “I’d urge us both to keep our voices down for this little chat.”

Amelie wondered if he was capable of such things.

“You see, Lady Amelie,” Lucien continued, voice only hushed in the thinnest sense of the word. “I have some concerns about the Lady Angela.”

No quicker could Lucien have found a way to incite Amelie’s temper, and that was saying something considerable. She ground her molars together with a deep inhale to keep from exploding right then and there. So deathly slow, she said, “Whatever your concerns  _ are, _ Lord Lucien, I am  _ certain _ that they are unfounded.” 

“You must hear me out, Lady Amelie. I’ve done some looking in to that home she claimed to come from at breakfast the other morning. It sounded so unusual to me, I simply couldn’t get it from my head. Schwarzwald, Schwarzwald … “

“Lord Lucien,” Amelie verged on a growl. “I will not discuss this with you now.” 

_ “So, _ I checked the cartography books in your library thrice over, milady, and I asked others just to be certain. There is no other way about it, it just does not exist. Nothing but the wilderness and the great sea—”

_ “Lord. Lucien.” _

“But  _ more _ than just that, Lady Amelie! I found her strangeness to be charming at first, but now I fear  _ darker _ things of it. That manner of hers, such an  _ uncivilized _ manner … I thought I might keep my fears quiet until I was more certain, milady, but having noticed the two of you so often together—"

Amelie had no idea what nonsense Lucien was spouting anymore, but he’d blown her patience to pieces with it. She considered what hand she might strike him with when a voice behind him beat her punch to the punch.

“Lucien. You were always dense with the subtleties, but I think Lady Amelie is done with you.”

Like a pin to a hot air balloon, Amelie’s anger escaped from her as she looked up to the familiar face of Lord Gabriel approaching. He looked nearly the same as he always had, ever since she was a girl: his ponytail of near-black curls and a clean-cut goatee, big brown eyes that always seemed a little bored and a little amused all at once. The only thing new about him that she noticed was a small scar marring his cheekbone.

Lucien had a look of indignation to give him, which may have been the first time Amelie had ever seen such a thing.

“Lord Gabriel, we were sharing a  _ private _ conversation.”

“Get  _ lost, _ Lucien,” Gabriel said over a sigh.

Sputtering, all out of excuses and dignity, Lucien got lost.

Amelie was now twice as glad as she approached Gabriel, dipping her skirts politely to him.

“Lord Gabriel, welcome to my chateau.”

He smiled at her, which crinkled the corners of his eyes, and he reached an arm out to pull her into his chest. Amelie was startled by this, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she allowed her arms to curl around his middle as he gave her a tight embrace. If she could, she would flush right then. It may have been welcome, but he  _ did _ make her feel like a child. Another thing that never changed.

“It’s good to see you, kid,” he told her as they parted, leaving a hand upon her shoulder to offer an extra squeeze.

“I still resent that pet name, Gabriel,” Amelie replied, although she was smiling. “Could I escort you to your usual rooms?”

“Of course you can.”

Gabriel was one of the constants of Amelie’s life. He was a noblewoman’s son from a land not close to her own, yet generations of friendship between their two houses had him a recurring presence since before she could remember. He knew her parents, nearly the same age as they were before their passing. And as such, he was there in the aftermath, and every year since.

“How are you feeling?” He asked her as they mounted the stairs to the second floor.

It was more than just pleasantry. He asked it every time. Usually, Amelie would answer with a dismissive, “Fine”, or sometimes: “No different than before”. But this time, she considered the question.

“I’m well,” she decided.

That made Gabriel turn his head towards her. “Yeah?”

“Don’t expect that means I’m cured.”

“It’s not over until it’s over, Amelie.”

She said nothing to that. It was a pointless argument to pick.

“What brings you north this time?” She asked instead, leading the way down the guest quarters corridor.

“I thought I’d make a stop by on my way to Zloto. They’re having trouble with bandit raids and asked for some help. I’m the help.”

Amelie tsked. “For a lord, you insist on putting yourself into considerable danger quite often.”

“You know all the pomp and politics shit isn’t for me,” Gabriel said with a dismissive wave. “I’m more into the practical problems I can fix with my axe.”

“Is  _ that _ how you got that scar?”

Seemingly despite himself, Gabriel grinned and raised his hand to touch the new indent on his cheek. “What, my trophy?”

“Oh,  _ Gabriel!” _

“Stop fussing, I’m fine.”

They stopped outside of Gabriel’s chamber door so he could open it up and bring them both to the sitting room. Given how often he came and went from the chateau, they’d gone and reserved this suite for him permanently. And, it seemed, the staff had already brought his chest of things up for him. It sat beneath the window sill, and — God  _ knows _ why he needed it with him — the black-metal battleaxe he was proud to call his own leaned comfortably there, too. Amelie kept her gaze from it. The only weapon she was trained to wield was a bow, and she was perfectly content to stay with just that.

“So,” Gabriel prompted, sitting himself down on one of the couches. “Lucien caught me before he caught you earlier.”

Amelie turned her head to him.  _ “Quoi?” _

“Barely got in the entryway before the man jumped me. He said that there was a woman I should be watching out for, ‘for your sake’.”

Oh, that infernal buffoon. Amelie tensed her jaw in anger.

“Sounded like a load of bullshit to me,” Gabriel added, perhaps at her look. “Mind filling me in?”

And so Amelie explained to him, although not everything, about Angela. How she was merely a guest with a strange way about her and that she was utterly harmless.

“Perhaps Lucien dislikes her out of jealousy, that I might enjoy her company greatly more than his,” Amelie huffed.

Unfortunately, that made the amusement in Gabriel’s eyes far overcome anything else. He leaned forward in interest. “You ‘greatly’ enjoy her company, huh?”

Oh, no. Amelie averted her gaze. For once, she was grateful for her slow-moving blood, glad that it would not reach her face. Still, that did nothing to hide how surely mortified she looked. “Did - Did I say that?”

“Sure did. And you must’ve meant it. I haven’t gotten a rise out of you like this since you were a kid,” he chuckled.

It made Amelie groan and cover her face. “I’m  _ begging _ you to drop it.”

“But Little Lady Amelie is  _ never _ interested in  _ suitors. _ ”

“She isn’t a suitor! She’s … “ Amelie released a sigh and lowered her hands. “She is something else entirely. A mystery I can’t quite grasp.” After a hesitation, she asked him, “Promise not to speak this to anyone else?”

“Of course,” Gabriel replied at once, and she trusted that just as decisively.

“Lucien is a madman, but not  _ everything _ he said is mad.” She looked at him. “Lady Angela claims to be from somewhere even  _ Sombra _ has not heard of before. She had letters of gentry and a signet ring forged. She lies when she says why she has come here. It would be  _ easy _ to believe she’s only in my home as a thief or charlatan, but I …  _ don’t. _ ”

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, seeming to think on Amelie’s words, considering everything. His eyes were equally as good at conveying how deep his thoughts went. He had such an intelligence about him in these moments. When he spoke again, it was measured, but plain.

“Do you think, Amelie, you might be so sure she’s innocent because you have feelings for her?”

Amelie’s eyes sank rapidly to the floor, and then she shut them. Could it be so simple, and yet so atrociously  _ childish? _ Could that sincerity she swore she could see each time Angela looked at her be nothing more than a trick?  _ Could _ Angela truly be a  _ danger? _ It pained her to entertain these ideas, she’d tried so hard not to these past days. 

And why did she push them so far away every time they came up? 

Well, because she  _ was _ attracted to Angela. Not just in her looks, not just in her manner, but the warmth she made her feel. Warmth that Amelie craved so dearly.

So maybe it was true.

And yet. And yet, even so. There was a part of Amelie that still revolted against that sad conclusion. It was stubborn, and it was strong. It faced that which Amelie had been running away from and it held its ground even still. And from that, she felt confidence grow in what she knew she believed.

Amelie looked back up to Gabriel, who waited patiently.

“No,” she said. “No, I know it. Lady Angela is innocent.”

And Gabriel nodded.

“I believe you.”

A breath released from Amelie that she hasn’t realized she held.

If _ he _ didn’t think she was being unreasonable, then maybe she really wasn’t.

“Hey,” Gabriel prompted, causing Amelie to look at him once again. “Is she the reason that you’re feeling well these days?”

Amelie just couldn’t help but smile. It was a bashful one, rare for her, though less so lately. “She …  _ may _ have something to do with it.”

He smiled back, sliding a foot across the carpet to bump affectionately against her own. 

“Then she’s all good by me, kid.”

“Gabriel, please, the _ pet name.” _


	6. Chapter 6

After many hours of visiting with Gabriel that afternoon, including a blissfully quiet suppertime together, Amelie returned to her office in the early evening. Along the way, she bid a hand to fetch her spymaster. She intended only a brief meeting - there was just one thing she needed to clarify. As she arrived at her office, she found Sombra already waiting inside, lounging in Amelie’s seat without a care in the world.

Needless to say, Amelie shuffled her out immediately, and proceeded to firmly inform her that she was  _ no longer _ to be investigating Lady Angela. The case was closed. Sombra was curious, though not all that surprised.

When Sombra asked why, Amelie replied, “Because I have come to my own conclusions.”

“And?”

“And she is innocent.”

Little more explanation was needed. Sombra shrugged and accepted it, sharing a joke that now she could take a little time off, away from the chateau. Amelie rolled her eyes. As though Sombra didn’t do what she liked and go where she pleased even  _ while _ Amelie was waiting on her work.

A dismissive gesture from Amelie adjourned the meeting.

She spent the rest of the evening finishing the paperwork she’d neglected to spend time with Gabriel. And as she flicked her name onto the lines and stamped her signet into wax, Amelie began to feel something akin to withdrawl overcome her mind. Angela permeated her thoughts, wondering what she must get up to when Amelie wasn’t near. Who she spoke to. Where she wandered. What she liked.

Amelie wanted to know  _ everything. _

With her ‘incomplete’ pile now dutifully shuffled over to the ‘complete’ side of the desk, she extracated herself from her office to make her way to her chambers for the night.

The last thing she expected to prove an obstacle was the ridiculous sound of two grown adults cooing and mewing like kittens down the hall.

What in the world?

Amelie turned the corner to spot the perpetrators and found an enormous suit of armor crouched beside a smaller frame in a dress. It took only a little candlelight for her to realize it was her dearest guard, Reinhardt, and Angela. The two were making an incomplete semi-circle, continuing those absurd noises — though to what, Amelie strained to see.

What in the _ world? _

“What are you doing?” She asked plainly, causing Angela to nearly jump out of her skin, and Reinhardt to clang around ungracefully to see her.

“Ah, milady!” He boomed.

Angela shushed him quickly. “Not so loud!” She whispered. “You’ll scare him!”

“Scare  _ who?” _ Amelie asked, bewildered.

Both of them pointed down the dimly-lit hallway, and finally there Amelie could see the form of a black tomcat, sitting rather dignified with his tail curled around his paws. One of the chateau’s mousers. He didn’t seem terribly incensed to draw closer  _ or _ to run away. 

“Lady Angela wanted to pet the kitty-cat,” Reinhardt explained in the closest thing to a whisper that the poor, loud fool could manage.

“We’ve been trying to get him to come to us!” Angela added. “But he keeps getting away!”

_ Why _ her dear guest and guardsman both had been following one of the mouser cats around was completely lost on Amelie. It was only an animal. Even if he happened to be one of the most handsome cats she’d known. Still, Amelie lowered herself down to where they both crouched and reached out a hand, offering a gentle kissing sound to the tom. 

“Kuro,” she encouraged, “Kuro, come.”

“Is that his name?” Angela asked in hushed excitement.

Upon being called properly, Kuro padded daintily over to the three of them, unshy as he bumped his muzzle against Amelie’s outstretched fingers. Angela made a noise of delight, offering her own hand to be kissed by the wet little nose. He obliged, happy to share his scent to a new human.

“The cats know to stay away from the busy feet of humans around the chateau,” Amelie explained, pulling her arm back to herself as Angela and Reinhardt both enjoyed Kuro’s soft, black coat. “He must have thought he was in your way.”

“The kitty-cats do always run from me,” Reinhardt agreed, sounding sad to that fact.

“It must be your armor, too.” Angela wrapped one of her knuckles against his plating. “It makes quite the noise as you move.”

_ “The poor things.” _

Reinhardt gave Kuro a few more gentle pets before he stood, and indeed, the loud clanging of his plated armor caused the cat to startle, the fur on his spine and tail poofing up. Angela gave a coo and attempted to smooth it back down.

“I should retire for the evening,” Reinhardt said. “If that is permissible to you, milady. I would be more than happy to escort you both to your rooms if you require.”

“No, no,” Amelie assured, rather quickly. “You may go, Reinhardt.”

It wasn’t as though she was vexed by her good guardsman’s company, but Amelie had craved a moment like this all day.

“Thank you so much for your help,” Angela told him.

He bowed politely — as best he could with his current gear — and made his way towards the barracks.

By then, when Amelie turned to her, Angela had collected Kuro up into her arms and was stroking the now-settled fur of his back. He seemed so pleased. Amelie could hear his purring from where she sat, and despite all greater logic, felt a prick of jealousy.

“Who named him?” Angela asked, looking up at her with a smile. “Was it you, Lady Amelie?”

“No, not me,” Amelie replied. “A friend of mine was visiting when the litter was born. He happens to be quite the cat lover, so he insisted on naming all five when he heard.” 

“I noticed you with a gentleman today,” Angela said with curiosity. “Was that your friend?”

Restraining her heart from  _ too _ much joy at being noticed, Amelie shook her head. “No, that man was Lord Gabriel. He is an old family friend. Who I am speaking of is from the far, far east. Lord Gabriel is from the south.”

“Oh.” Angela gave a giggle. “You have so many friends!”

Amelie blinked. She never really considered herself as one with many friends. She supposed she had a couple, but — well, the rest of the people in her life merely worked for her. They had no obligation to care for her personally, and she rationally assumed that few of them did. Most surely just went about their days, only fearing for her impending death because it meant they might find themselves out of work.

Sobered by this train of thought, Amelie quietly diverted, “Apparently in his language, ‘Kuro’ means ‘black’.”

“Well, that’s quite befitting,” Angela giggled again, turning her attention to the cat. “He’s like a little shadow. I’d only just barely spotted him in the candlelight. I’m so happy I did, what a sweet boy!” She kissed the top of his head.

Amelie smiled, warming again. “I’m certain he would be happy to sleep in a soft bed for once, if you wished for company.”

“Oh,” Angela gasped. “Would that be okay?”

“Most definitely.” Amelie offered Angela her hand as she stood. As always, she cherished the warmth in her palm when it was accepted, and then regretted its disappearance when she let go.

“I’ve never had a cat before,” Angela laughed, one arm curled so protectively around Kuro. “How wonderful!”

So intoxicated with Angela’s joy was Amelie that she swiftly blurted, “Then if you wish, you can keep him!”

It had Angela more than a little surprised. “Really? You’re certain? You’re really, very certain?”

“I am absolutely,  _ entirely _ certain.”

Despite the furry little body that was caught between them, the feeling of Angela embracing Amelie was elation she could not quantify. It was as though she saw stars — no, saw  _ sunshine! _ The warmth and softness of Angela pressed against her was  _ everything _ and  _ more. _

“Oh, thank you!” Angela exclaimed, face laid so comfortably on Amelie’s shoulder. From here, Amelie could smell her hair, the soap she surely washed with above and an earthiness that was just  _ her _ below. She closed her eyes to admire the scent, and everything about their embrace all at once.

“You’re welcome,” Amelie whispered, fearing that if she spoke too quickly or too loudly, Angela would pull away, just as Angela had feared scaring Kuro away.

Amelie could not say if Angela was thinking the same things that she was, but she heard the other murmur against her, “You’re really very special, Lady Amelie.”

That much she was inclined to argue. But she didn’t.

_ “As are you, Lady Angela.” _

They parted from each other, though they didn’t go very far. Angela’s free arm still curled around Amelie’s back, but her face was freed to look up at her. “You can just call me Angela,” she told her, her lilting voice so very soft, as soft as her smile.

Doubtless now, Amelie knew her heart beat quicker. Perhaps a full second quicker. Comparatively, it felt like it pounded in her chest, and she  _ swore _ her face felt hotter, too. What strange things this woman could do with only a curve of her lips and a few lovely words.

“Angela,” Amelie said, and the intimacy of it tasted so sweet on her tongue. “In such a case, will you call me Amelie?”

Angela’s laugh was musical. “I would love to!”

Kuro meowed between them, instigating them to fully pull away, flustered smiles on both. 

Amelie had to clear her throat. “May I escort you to your room tonight, La —  _ Angela?” _

“Actually, may I escort you to yours?”

The difference hardly mattered. Amelie just wanted to enjoy a little more time together before the night was done. She nodded with a smile, and it only widened more when Angela looped her free arm around Amelie’s own, her other arm still cradling Kuro against her breast.

_ Evidently,  _ the jealousy was not quite gone. Not entirely.

Still, they walked together through the darkened hallways, arm tight in arm. This time, Amelie was the one inclined to questions. She wasn’t so afraid of them now. Though, it was not as if she purposefully ventured into sensitive territory.

“So you seem to enjoy animals,” she began. “What other things do you enjoy?”

“I like many things,” Angela answered simply. “Let’s see something specific … Ah, I love to garden! At home, I have a big garden of herbs and vegetables. I also love reading! Though, I have less of a collection of books than plants. I’ve worn mine all out from re-reading them so often.” She giggled.

“Did you know we have a library in the chateau?” Amelie asked.

Angela shook her head. “This place is so big, I had no idea!”

“Well then, allow me to take you tomorrow afternoon. Every book in there is yours to enjoy.”

“You are too kind!”

Amelie shook her head. “I promise you, I am not.”

They stopped in front of Amelie’s chamber door. Angela let go, readjusting to hold Kuro — who was beginning to fuss — in both of her arms.

“You can’t change my mind,” Angela told Amelie, looking unwaveringly up into her amber eyes. She had determinedness in her own, burning with a  _ passion _ that seemed to Amelie to come from nowhere. “You are a kind and wonderful person, Amelie. I won’t ever think otherwise.”

And then, rising to her tippy-toes, Angela kissed her cheek.

When Amelie let herself into her room, undressing and letting down her hair in preparation for sleep, she knew that she would get hardly a single wink tonight. Because she  _ knew _ that her busy mind would do nothing but swirl and twirl in revelling thoughts of Angela.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time around, I'd like to extend a big hug and thanks to my beta reader, Charlie! You might know him as my co-author for Supernova. He's a big, big help in editing Right By You so I can get it out to you guys.  
> You can find Charlie as StrikeCommanderGabriel on Tumblr!

Come morning, Amelie woke to find herself awash with utter exhaustion. She hadn’t slept well, that much turned out to be true, but it was a different sort of tired gripping her as she fought to push herself up in her bed. Mind clouded and body faint, she knew exactly what it was. It happened every once in a while. Amelie pretended no knowledge of medicine, but she could suppose that a sluggish heart wouldn’t lend well to a strong body.

“Lady Amelie, good morning to you!” Her maid greeted as she entered from the bathing room. “Are you ready for your bath?”

Resisting her own weakness, Amelie nodded and stood up from bed, albeit with a slight wobble. She righted herself quickly enough, and the two of them got her into the brass tub.

“Maybe you should rest easy today, milady,” the maid most timidly suggested.

_ “No.” _

“A-as you say!”

That wasn’t an option. She had far too much to get done. One trifling little weakness spell wouldn’t stand against her.

Alone once again, Amelie laid herself back against the side of the bath and relaxed her weary body in the hot water. As always, it hugged her — a glad comfort, but not her only comfort. 

Not anymore. 

She happily forwent the usual count of heartbeats to instead remember how her heart beat the night before. How it thrummed when Angela held her and smiled at her. It was generous and strong. In that moment, she felt she was a different woman entirely. A woman of vitality, vibrancy.

Angela made her become someone  _ new.  _ Someone she didn’t recognize, but —  perhaps — someone she’d be willing to meet.

Once her bath was done, Amelie called to her handmaid and attempted to stand.

_ Attempted _ was the word.

As she drew herself to her feet in the tub and tried to step out, a sudden overpowering weakness took hold, and her legs gave way beneath her. She fell back, crashing into the water and landing down hard on her backside. Pain  _ surged _ up her spine. It was enough for her to cry out.

Her maid came to her quickly then, frightened and distressed, though she was too small to lift Amelie on her own. She had to quickly find help in another chambermaid, and together the two of them had Amelie up. She felt humiliated. Naked and shaking as the two other women brought her to sit and dry off. They returned her to her nightgown, deciding on her behalf that she shouldn’t be off and walking today. She resented it, but her body did not.

Amelie was brought back to her bed, glaring daggers of gold up at her canopy ceiling when she lay. She’d promised Angela a tour of the library that day, and besides that, Gabriel would surely be taking his leave that very afternoon. She had no time to waste laying in her own self-pity. She had no time at all.

Despite all of her grievances, Amelie’s mind was far too dull to fixate, and she drifted into discomforted sleep for awhile. 

“Amelie, hey.”

The gentle touch of a hand to Amelie’s cheek roused her awake after some time. She recognized immediately that the hand was large and calloused, but warm.

“You in there, kid?”

“I am … I’m awake,” she mumbled.

Gabriel chuckled. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed in his riding clothes, surely ready to hit the road as soon as he was finished here. Amelie could only frown. It felt as though he’d only just arrived.

“Are you on your way?” She asked.

“Yeah, I can’t waste much time. I’ve got a city waiting on me.”

“Just as well. I have little time to visit with you, anyways,” Amelie lied, struggling to sit up against her voluminous pillows.

Whether it fooled Gabriel or not, his manner changed, showing more concern as he watched her fight. When they were at relative eye level, he said softly, “I heard you weren’t doing so well this morning.”

“No, well, you can see that for yourself, can’t you?” She hadn’t meant it to come out quite as bitter as it did, but she gave no apologies.

“It’s alright to take it easy, y’know. Rest probably does you some good.”

“What difference does it  _ really _ make?” Amelie nearly laughed. “It’s all the same, isn’t it? Rest or no, nothing  _ changes.” _

“You act like you’re already a corpse, Amelie.” A sternness joined Gabriel’s worry. “You can’t just give up hope. I haven’t.”

Amelie looked away from him, pointedly glaring out the window next to her bedside. The sun was nowhere near. It was only rain that poured heavily down from the skies.

“I never  _ had _ hope, Gabriel,” she spoke softly.

He collected both of her hands, folded together in her lap, into one of his own. She couldn’t help but look back at him at that, her fire fizzling out.

“I’m leaving today,” he told her. “When I come back in a month, it’ll be for your birthday. And you’ll be alive and well to see it, Amelie. You understand?”

She understood. She just didn’t believe him.

“Be well, Gabriel,” she quietly replied, loosing one of her hands to squeeze his. “Don’t get yourself into trouble.”

Amelie settled back down into her bed when Gabriel left her, leaving her not returning to sleep, but staring at the ceiling once again. Her mind swam with thoughts. Ordinarily, her mortality was something she didn’t concern herself with. She knew her expiry. It felt silly for her to worry about it any more than she and everyone else already had. But as the spring grew older and the date drew nearer, new concerns popped up where they’d never been before.

Should she begin picking out an heir? Deciding on where her belongings went? Should she be writing letters to be sent after her departure?

There was so much about dying that Amelie didn’t know.

As she dredged on those grave thoughts, a sliver of light escaped through the thick of the clouds outside her window, touching her cheek where it lay against her pillow. She stopped, and she looked out. Sun glimmered through each drop that passed it by, tiny crystals falling to the earth instead of rain.

When a knock sounded on the wood of her door next, she felt a rush of pleasure in her belly at knowing who it was.

“My dear Lady Amelie, I heard you were unwell,” Lucien spoke with distress as he let himself in.

The feeling was gone. 

Amelie pushed herself up much, much quicker than she had before, straining in the process, and pulled her blankets close to her chest. She was too yet flabbergasted to feel fury.

She gasped, “Lucien, do you  _ knock!” _

“I did knock, milady,” Lucien replied, coming to her bedside. “Oh, I was so very worried upon hearing of your illness this morning. Has a fever taken you? You poor thing, you were missed terribly at breakfast.”

Thusly the anger came. Amelie gripped her fingers into the thick fabric of her duvet.

“You cannot just  _ allow _ yourself into a woman’s room. What do you think you’re doing here?!”

“I’ve come to check upon you, Lady Amelie.” Perhaps most infuriating was how little Lucien seemed bothered by her reaction. “Whatever can I do for you? Shall I bring you some tea, dear?”

“Don’t you ‘dear’ me, Lucien! I should have you thrown right out, or I shall do it  _ myself!” _

“Oh, your illness has fogged your mind so. Don’t you worry, milady, I will return with something to clear you up nicely.”

He turned to go back through the doorway, but as he opened it, he came face-to-face with Angela. She stood there in surprise. Not expecting to see Lucien exiting Amelie’s chambers, no doubt. 

His greeting was dry. “Ah. Lady Angela.”

“H-hello, good day, Lord Lucien,” She fumbled in return, giving a belated dip of her skirts. “Is — Have you spoken to Lady Amelie? Is she doing well?”

“I’m afraid that darling Lady Amelie is too sick to —”

“Angela,” Amelie called out from her bed, wishing that she could cross the gap and put herself between Angela and Lucien, so that the poor woman would not have to suffer the presence of that fool.

Fortunately, her voice was enough. Angela swept passed Lucien’s guardlike stance in the doorway and came to Amelie’s side. Her eyes were filled with the most concern Amelie had seen of anyone yet. It radiated from her, from the stiffness of her posture to the slight tremble of her lip. “You’re unwell,” she mourned.

“I am fine,” Amelie soothed. She was not quite brave enough to touch Angela, but she desperately wanted to give her comfort. “It’s nothing you need worry yourself with.”

Evidently, Amelie accepting Angela’s company was too much for Lucien to bear. He loudly announced, “I do so hope you rest well, Lady Amelie,” and gave a biting look before vacating himself from the room, door slamming with a hearty  _ thunk _ behind.

With the quiet comfort of being alone together, Angela seemed content to sit on Amelie’s bedside, and Amelie was content to let her arms and blankets rest, although she was still embarrassed by her state. To be seen by the object of her affections dressed in her nightwear and with her hair down. She glanced at her folded hands.

“Thank you for coming, Angela,” she said, feeling warm for it.

“Of  _ course _ I came, I —  _ No _ illness can go on ignored.” Angela was nearly frantic, her hands quick to curl around Amelie’s and hold tight. “What are you feeling? Lethargy? Dizziness? I’m quite good with medicinal herbs, perhaps I can find something to help you. I could —”

“Please, please, Angela,” Amelie gently interrupted, though she was quite surprised by just how intense Angela’s concern  _ was. _ Surely no-one in the castle would tell her that Amelie was dying. Surely no-one told her  _ anything. _ The only rational explanation was that she was passionate by nature — which, considering everything so far, seemed true enough. “You  _ really _ need not work yourself up about this. I’ll be perfectly fit tomorrow, it’s only a spell that happens.”

“This happens  _ often?” _

“Not often, no. Only once in a month or two. And it lasts only a small while.”

“Oh,” Angela murmured, looking downward, “How  _ awful _ for you.”

Emboldened by the desire to protect Angela from sadness, Amelie pulled her hands from her grasp, only to reach them up and cup Angela’s soft, delicate cheeks. She leaned closer,  _ willing _ a genuine smile with every ounce of warmth she had left. “The  _ only _ fact about this that I find sorrow in is that I'm unable to take you to the library as I promised.”

Angela shook her head in Amelie’s grasp, though a small smile blossomed onto her face, as well. “I don’t care about that. There will always be another time.”

“Oh, but you should  _ see _ it. You wouldn’t be so  _ blasé _ about this if you knew just how vast and impressive it was.”

The reward for her teasing was a small giggle from Angela. “Ah, bragging, are we?”

“I take pride in what is mine.”

Angela reached her own hands up to cradle Amelie’s against her face. “In that case, would you _ please _ allow me to go to the kitchens and make you some tea? I know one recipe that does  _ wonders _ for getting energy up, and I would like to see the library tomorrow.”

Ah, how could Amelie truly deny such a request? She smiled a touch wider as she nodded. “You have my permission,  _ chérie.” _

Blessedly, Angela did not ask what that word meant as she pulled from the bed, off on her quest to fetch tea. Amelie didn’t think she could quite handle the embarrassment of answering.

As she lay back against her pillows once more, she watched the dim of the muffled sun behind the clouds move in its descent below the horizon. Her chest felt warmed, that soft smile still touching her face. What did she ever do to deserve such a person falling into her life?

Something moved. In the corner of her eye, she saw it. But as Amelie turned her head, she found that everything in her room seem unchanged. Though, it was harder to tell with the dimming light. She needed some candles lit. Ah, she reached a hand up to cradle her head. She must’ve been seeing things from this damned fog in her brain.

Angela returned in fifteen minutes at most, carrying a tray in her arms as Reinhardt held the door for her. She offered him a bright smile and thanks for his help, to which he gave a bow in return. When the door shut, Angela came to Amelie’s side and set the tray upon the night table. 

“It may not taste very good,” she warned, poorly hiding a laugh. “I realized as I made my way back that I forgot to put any honey in it. And it’s quite hot, you have to be careful when you drink it. Oh, you should sit up fully. Here, here, let me help.”

With gentle hands, Angela touched Amelie’s middle, her nearly-bare middle, and with surprising strength, helped her to sit up proper.

It was then that the knife came. 

Imperceivably quick, out of the darkness, the flashing dagger sliced through the air. A lock of Angela’s hair fell as the weapon hit hard just inches from Amelie’s head.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Hi! Thank you for reading my very first solo-written fic! I put a lot of heart and soul into this story and I hope you can enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed crafting it! Feel free to let me know what you think down below!


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